Pillow Talk

I'm doing some comedy tonight for the staff of some gym.
Which is funny in and of itself.
I lived with a personal trainer for a few months.
Francis.
He took me to the Rimrock gym and taught me all sorts of lifting...drills? Whatever.
I never went back.
I couldn't lift things from my sides very well. I had to use the 3-ounce weights, or some such quantity.
The smallest ones.
The weights that look as though they were designed for a joke.
I'm a joke.
I've shaved a man's back before.
Francis'.

Francis was one of those guys who was crazy about having an impecable bed setup.
He'd stolen hundreds of dollars worth of hotel linens (closer to thousands, probably).
And he'd lay there, looking at the ceiling as I played video games on the other side of the armoires.
And out of nowhere he'd just say, "...My bed is wicked."
He didn't even require an answer from me.
He just had to say it.